


Something Better (For The Next Time)

by fihli



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: (just a lot of snark), Gen, No Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5809699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fihli/pseuds/fihli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The leadership triumvirate of Kylo Ren, Captain Phasma, and General Hux have work to do, and making a huge operation like Starkiller Base run smoothly is not easy. However, the trio are more than up for the challenge; they're capable, well-trained, and more than a little ambitious. There's only one problem...</p><p>The First Order never told them how much living on a freezing, isolated planet would make them want to kill each other.</p><p>Slices of life on Starkiller Base. Set four years before 'The Force Awakens'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Phasma

FOUR YEARS BEFORE _'THE FORCE AWAKENS'_  


Captain Phasma hated complainers. 

She didn't complain. That wasn't part of who she was, wasn't how she had been trained to act. Well, she _could_ complain, could complain about a _lot_ of things, but she didn't. 

Because she hated complainers.

Her stomach wasn’t on the same page. Ever since she’d entered the control room it had been letting out complaints of its own, long rumbling growls reminding her that she'd forgone breakfast, completely skipped the noon meal, and that dinner had started five minutes ago. Yet there she was, on her feet, tapping away on one of the floating holographic screens, sifting through and double-checking training schedules. Hux hadn't even sent them to one of the screens with a chair intact. 

She could have been sitting… The chairs weren’t exactly comfortable, but she’d been on her feet all day and her heels ached. Maybe she’d have even taken her boots off… Not exactly protocol, but she was alone. 

Hux was her boss. Technically, she was a captain. She answered to Hux, who answered to Snoke. She'd gone over Hux’s head twice in her entire life, and she'd gladly do it again (she'd do anything to watch Hux’s face turn as red as his hair), but something about Snoke set her off. The less time she spent in the conference room he’d picked to hologram into, the better. 

She glanced around the room and lifted and dropped one shoulder for no one but herself. Still alone. Might as well. 

She undid her helmet and slipped the confining metal off of her head, shaking out her short hair and wiping one still-gloved hand across her slightly damp forehead. It wasn’t hot in the control room, but it was warm enough to make the helmet uncomfortable. 

Setting the helmet --some of the troopers called them _buckets_ ; there was no way she could disagree with that-- next to her feet, she continued on scrolling through reports, resolute in ignoring the now constant rumble in her stomach. They always had food of some sort down in the canteen, and she kept extra rations in one of her storage containers (which is what she’d say if ever questioned about it; she wasn’t about to tell Hux or anyone else that she had a _snack drawer_ in her quarters, even though that’s what it was). 

Phasma lifted one armor-clad arm above her head, straightened it, and switched, her eyes still scanning a report about troop movements near the Outer Rim as she enjoyed her stretch. This work was endless. She was never going to finish in time for--

“Really? Paperwork?”

Phasma dropped her arm, swinging it behind her slightly to finish off the stretch. 

“You know the general,” she replied without turning. “Can’t get enough of the stuff.”

Kylo Ren made a soft noise of agreement, sounding more like a rush of static through the mask, and came to stand beside her. He flipped down his cowl and took off his helmet the same way she had done with hers, and also set it at his feet. 

They stood in companionable silence for a while, her scrolling through the reports and him watching-but-not-really. She didn't mind that he was there. Unlike Hux, she had an almost amiable relationship with Ren, while he and the general just barely tolerated each other. 

She had known him since before they were stationed on Starkiller Base, when he was a sullen teenager, new to the First Order, and she was on her fourth year of training. His age wasn't surprising to her (the Order tended to recruit young, she being an example of that as well), but rather the rumors that had started swirling as soon as he had arrived. 

Rumors that he had been a Jedi in training, rumors that he could use the Force, rumors that he was going to be training personally under Snoke. She had even heard one of the troopers whispering how he had heard that Ren was a direct blood descendent of Darth Vader himself. 

She wasn't sure about any of that. Ren definitely had power of some sort, she'd seen it demonstrated enough to know that much, but an all-encompassing Force that moved through and knit the fabric of the universe together? All the good and evil mumbo-jumbo? That was better left for Ren and Snoke and people like them to puzzle out. 

She had been moved soon after he was recruited, to a new training base, and then another, and another, making her slow, methodical way up the ranks of the First Order. She loathed bragging almost as much as she did complaining, but she was one of the most efficient soldiers the Order had ever recruited. She started creating trooper training programs along with all of her other duties, if only to show off her talents to her overseers. It worked, she was promoted, and promoted again.

Even she wasn’t sure what her technical title was now. She went by _Captain_. It fit nicely with _Phasma_ , and held enough authority to be respected, but not too much that her troopers were afraid to approach her. She had been stationed to Starkiller Base when she was twenty-six, nearly five years ago, and she could honestly say there hadn’t been a dull moment since she stepped foot on the planet.

Mainly because of the previously mentioned volatile and terrifying Kylo Ren, but she digressed.

He scared the stormtroopers under her command shitless, he got under General Hux’s unshakable professional demeanor three hundred times in a normal day, and instead of venting his frustrations on a training dummy (like she did), he tended to vent his frustrations on anything in the immediate vicinity with the vicious red lightsaber always kept somewhere on his person. 

She stole a glance as she moved something around on the holo-screen; he wasn’t reading over her shoulder anymore, but seemed galaxies away, lost in his own thoughts. The screen cast a glow of blue light around his face, the scattered freckles, prominent nose, black hair swept away from his constantly drawn brows. 

He had been twenty when she’d first been assigned to Starkiller five years ago, and while he’d grown up a lot since then, especially under Snoke’s tutelage (that was one rumor that had been true), there were still parts of him that vividly reminded her of that angry, withdrawn teenager she’d first met. 

He cleared his throat. “I was just at a briefing in room D198.” 

D198. Snoke’s conference room. Well, she couldn't blame him for wanting a little human company after that; she hardly spent any time in D198, but when she did, she left chilled to the bone. She respected the Supreme Leader and his judgement above all else (he had promoted her to her current position, after all), but that didn't mean she had to enjoy his leadership tactics. 

Terror was effective, but she believed it only went so far. 

“He mentioned you.”

Phasma glanced over again, trying not to let her unease show. That was the one advantage to wearing the bucket. 

“Snoke?”

“Hux.”

She relaxed a little. That was different. She and Hux were on good terms; they weren't _friends_ , but they worked together well. Her camaraderie with the troopers and his unerring, technical mind made life on Starkiller Base run smoothly, for the most part. 

With little to no help from the person standing beside her, but again, she digressed. 

She had only met the general once before her transfer to Starkiller, and knew of him mainly from the accomplishments of his father, who Hux was named for. They didn't talk much, and when they did, it was about business. 

Unlike Ren, who sometimes sought her out for nothing but company. And gossip, apparently, although that was a new one. 

“What did Hux say?” she asked, thinking that if he was going to make her dig for information, she'd be better off without it. She was tired and hungry and she wasn't up for any of Ren’s theatrics. To her surprise, he shot straight for the heart. 

“He's worried about your training methods.”

“My _what_?”

“The drills, the sequences, the…” He waved his hand in a lazy circle. “Whatever else. He thinks they're proving ineffective. Wants you to step up your game.”

“ _He said that_?”

“Yes. _Hux_ said the words _step up your game_.”

She ignored the jibe and swiped an angry finger across the holo-screen still open in front of them. “In front of the Supreme Leader. Without me there to defend myself. My methods are tested time and time again, they're nothing if not effective. I built trooper training from _scratch_ , I--”

“Captain? Ren?”

Phasma shut her mouth, swallowing the rest of the words back down her throat. She turned to meet Hux as he stepped into the room. 

“General.”

His eyes slid from her to Ren and back to her again. “Am I interrupting something?”

“I was just filling the captain in on our meeting with the Supreme Leader,” Ren replied, bending to pick up his helmet and securing it under one arm. If Hux noticed the anger still simmering beneath Phasma’s silver plated armor, he gave no notice. 

“Good,” Hux said. “All very routine. Supreme Leader seemed to agree with the points I brought up, although you didn't say much.”

This was to Ren, who lifted and dropped one shoulder. 

“You seemed to have everything under control.”

Hux narrowed his eyes, like he could sense something was wrong and wanted to get to the bottom of the puzzle. Phasma seethed. He was squinting at the wrong person. 

She honestly wanted to strangle him. Ineffective? _Her_? Sometimes it felt like she was the only person in the entire thrice-damned galaxy that got any real work done. Well. No use in letting it drag on. 

“General, can I have a minute?” she asked. “I have something to--”

And then her stomach growled. Louder than the first time; loud enough to cut her off mid-sentence. She cringed. Maybe no one heard it.

Ren smirked. “Hungry?”

_Damn it._

“No, no,” Hux said, almost absentmindedly, “I could eat. Can it wait until we get to the canteen, Captain?”

She nodded once, quick and tight. She found it hard to stay mad at Hux; he always had the First Order’s best interests in mind, which included taking care of the officers under him and the troopers under them. Usually. Not this time. 

As she closed down the holoscreen, she let herself fantasize for a full three seconds about wrenching a clump of his perfect hair right out of his skull. 

Hux pressed a button and the doors slid open. 

“Joining us, Ren?”

Phasma almost laughed at that (she had never seen Kylo Ren in the trooper mess hall in her entire First Order career) before she realized that Hux wasn't joking. Ren seemed taken aback, too, and glanced over at her before responding. 

“Um. Sure.”

“It's social interaction,” Hux quipped before leading the way out of the control room. “Not a death sentence.” 

_He’s in a good mood_ , Phasma thought as she picked up her helmet and followed Ren and Hux out of the door. Usually that would put her in a good mood as well --a successful meeting with Snoke was a victory for everyone on Starkiller-- but not when it came at the too-high price of her training technique. 

She wondered viciously what Hux had suggested they use instead of her method. Clones? No. She had believed that he was the biggest supporter of her training; he came to all of the big drills and she attended every one of his speeches. Even when they were boring. Maybe she’d bring that up the next time she talked to Snoke.

_Supreme Leader, the general needs to talk less. He gets this unsettling murder glint in his eye when he talks about blueprints. And please make him stop using words nobody knows. If a trooper asks me one more damn time what Hux means when he says “the First Order does not tolerate tergiversation” in the middle of a pep talk, I’m going to take my blaster and--_

Phasma blinked and took the tray that Ren handed back to her, realizing a little belatedly that she’d angry-talked herself all the way into the canteen without even noticing. She went through the line, serving herself stew (what kind, she wasn’t sure, it was a rusty orange color and smelled like pepper), spice tea, and a hunk of rehydrated bread. It was normal for the temperature outside of the base to be deep below freezing, and there was always a supply of hot drinks in the canteen. 

The food on Starkiller was often subpar (she could have gone to the officers’ canteen, but she avoided that almost as religiously as she avoided Snoke), but she got by with her tea and the snack drawer and whatever mystery meat they were serving in the trooper canteen to fill her up after her normal eight to ten hours of drills and missions and training. 

She sat across from Ren at the end of one of the long tables off to the side. The helmet was back on and the cowl was back up, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he thought he was going to eat anything. He didn’t have much on his tray; a piece of ryshcate and one of the same tall mugs that she did, except his was full of some black steaming liquid. 

Ren trained almost as much as she did, but she hardly ever saw him eat. Maybe he had a snack drawer, too. Maybe he had a different variety and could be tempted to trade.

“No helmets at the table,” Hux chided as he set his tray down and slid onto the bench next to Ren. “The captain and I are trying to have a civilized meal, if you would like to join us.”

“Watch yourself,” Ren said, his menacing tone ruined by the fact that he did as Hux asked almost immediately, flipping down the cowl and unlatching his helmet in the same smooth movement. There weren’t a lot of troopers in the canteen with them, but Phasma knew they were all paying close attention. Kylo Ren unmasked was a rare sight around the base, and she didn’t blame him for keeping his face hidden. He was twenty-five but looked almost younger than that, and was notoriously bad at hiding his emotions, which, more often than not, were the opposite of what he was trying to sell with the whole _mask-and-cloak_ schtick.

Phasma knew for a fact that Hux hated the mask. She figured it was because Hux could read anyone in an instant and loved knowing what people were thinking; he made any trooper reporting to him take their helmet off before giving their report, including her. Ren wasn’t under any jurisdiction but Snoke’s, and Phasma couldn’t help but relish every time she watched Hux slowly turn red with fury as he tried to carry a business conversation with Ren’s emotionless masked face.

They ate in silence for a while, Phasma sipping her tea and still simmering about Hux’s comments about her training. She wanted to confront him about it, but Ren was there, quietly taking bites out of his ryshcate and looking more content than she’d seen him in a long time, and she didn’t know how to ask him to leave.

Also, there was no way in hell she was going to make a scene where Kylo Ren could enjoy it. It was in her moral code.

Luckily for her, Hux opened his mouth.

“So. A lot was completed today,” he said, words heavy with that forced casualness of someone commenting on the weather. Ren shot to his feet and was masked again before Phasma could even blink.

“I’m not doing this,” he said, his voice crackling through the mask, and swept out of the canteen in an instant. He left his tray on the table, which was typical. Phasma fixed Hux with her best steely glare.

He didn’t look at her, but instead rolled his eyes at Ren’s empty seat. “What a child. Is having a normal conversation really so--”

“Hux.” Phasma cut him off and cranked up her glare to a whole new level of anger. He finally looked at her and recoiled a little. Her mad face had that effect on people. “ _What the fuck._ ”

“Excuse me?”

“What. The. _Fuck_?” she repeated. “You may be my superior, or some other bullshit, but I have just as much at stake with the trooper training, maybe even more so. This is _mine_ , and I won’t have you shitting on it without me there to defend myself. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to Snoke and having it out, unless the only way you can be a big man is behind someone else’s back, which, frankly, doesn’t make you suited for your position at all, _General_!”

She took a breath and blinked; she was furious. Hux swam back into focus, his eyes wide and confused, an emotion she wasn’t used to seeing from him, which gave her pause.

“General?”

“I never said anything about your training program, Captain,” he said slowly, seeming to test the words in his mouth before speaking them. “My meeting with the Supreme Leader was about continuing supply runs for the weapon manufacturing. Trooper training wasn’t mentioned once.”

“What?”

“You know I support you, Captain,” he continued, gaining momentum. “Our troopers are the best trained and most efficient in the entirety of the First Order thanks to our combined efforts. Why would you believe that I would slander it behind your back?”

“Ren--” Phasma began, and as soon as the word left her mouth, she wanted to leave the base, stick her head in the snow, and leave it there until she froze. There was no way she'd been fooled by Kylo Ren. There was no way she'd spent close to two hours fuming about something made up in boredom by _Kylo Ren_. 

Hux crossed his arms. 

“He lied.”

“I know that now.” Phasma stabbed her spoon into the puddle of stew at the bottom of her bowl. “It’s been a long day. I apologize.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “You yelled at me.”

“Can you blame me? You’re infuriating.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Hux started stacking their trays. “Are you going to yell at Ren? Watch out for the lightsaber. Medical has enough to deal with.”

Phasma slid her bowl onto Hux’s tray and stood. He could deal with her dirty dishes. She had bigger things to tend to. 

“Don't get yourself killed.” Hux’s offhanded comment floated behind her as she strode out of the canteen, startling a clump of troopers by the door into attention. “I would hate to have to find another captain.”

She rounded a corner and made her methodical way through Starkiller Base, her boots clicking a familiar tune on the polished floor. She made her rounds every day, checking on her troopers, making sure everything was running smoothly, and she liked to think she knew the entirety of the enormous base inside and out. 

All of the commanding officers had their own private quarters. Ren’s was the most isolated, the farthest away from the trooper canteen, and in one of the coldest parts of the base, which wasn’t indicative of his character at all. Phasma reached up to adjust her helmet, and realized she had left it back in the canteen. 

Without giving herself time to think about what she was doing, or time to cool off in general, she made a fist and hammered it into Ren’s door two, three, four times in quick succession. Nothing.

She glanced around; no one else was around. She kicked the door hard enough to make the bones in her right leg vibrate. Still nothing.

She was about to pull out her blaster and do to his door what he’d done to one of Hux’s control rooms a week previously, when it slid open and he peered out. He didn’t seem surprised in the least.

“Captain.” 

She took a breath. “Fight me.”

“What?” 

“You heard me, Ren. Fight me.” Phasma almost couldn’t believe what she was saying, but she wasn’t about to take it back. She had a dispute. This was how she wanted to settle it. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying _talk shit, get hit_?”

“Commanding officers don’t go around _fighting_ each other.”

He wanted this as much as she did, she could tell. He was all tensed muscles, clenched fists, and dark eyes. Even the way he leaned against the door was a battle stance. She met his stare evenly.

“Commanding officers can do what they want.”

He laughed once, a short, harsh sound that didn’t have much humor behind it, and honestly sounded like he hadn’t laughed for real in a very long time. Phasma couldn’t blame him for that. Sometimes she smiled at herself in the mirror, just to prove that she still could.

“Training floor three,” she said. “Tomorrow morning.” 

He leaned his head to the side and regarded her. “Why not do it now? Use some more of that energy you just spent knocking down my door.” 

Phasma regarded him right back. It was late, she had been in her feet all day, and she was exhausted. Then again, it had been a day full of mind-numbing reports and nothing physical to speak of, and her muscles were itching to be put to use. 

“Hand-to-hand only,” she said. 

“Fine by me.”

“No _Force_.”

“I wouldn't dare.”

“Hux will want to watch.”

“Let him.”

“Troopers will be there. Can't fight with a mask on.”

“Getting cold feet, Captain?”

“Never.” She set her jaw and met his stare dead on. “Then we'll do it in the large training room, the one nearest to the canteen we were just in.”

“I know where it is.”

“There. In fifteen minutes.”

The door slid shut, two inches in front of her face, and she stuck her tongue out at it before making a sharp turn and walking back down the hallway. Hux was only just coming out of the canteen, and he smirked when he saw her. 

“You survived.”

“Training room zero-two-four, in fifteen minutes,” she said, taking her helmet from his outstretched hands. “Ren and I are fighting. Figured you wouldn't want to miss it.” 

Hux raised his eyebrows, but she didn't wait for a response. Swiveling on her heel, she walked back towards the private living quarters and to her room. She passed a clump of troopers on her way there, all from the FN troop; one of hers. 

“Training room zero-two-four,” she repeated, just like she told Hux. “In ten minutes. Make sure the rest of your troop knows.”

“Training exercise, Captain?” one of the troopers asked. She didn’t answer. In fact, she barely even heard the question. She was far down the hallway before she even realized the trooper had replied.

There was a little bit of madness in her walk. She was looser, stormier, a slight swing to her arms as she rounded the corner on the way to her room. She was ready for this. Never in her entire life would she have thought she’d be ready to fight a Sith Lord in training, but here she was.

She rolled her shoulder back in anticipation, stretching out the muscle, her fingers curling into premature fists.

She’d get at least one punch in, she figured. Hopefully more, but at the worst, she’d get one punch. One connecting hit. One jab to his chest or his stomach or his face, if she got really desperate. It wasn’t every day where she was invited to swing freely at Kylo Ren, and she was going to make the most out of it.

One punch. More, if she was quick and smart about it. 

One punch. For her training and her dignity.

One punch, and then she could go back to her quarters and, finally, put her feet up. It had been a long day.


	2. Hux

Hux knew that he was being stared at, but he didn’t particularly _care_ that he was being stared at. The culprits, a group of stormtroopers probably belonging to Phasma’s FN unit, were giving him wide berth. People tended to do that when he was pacing.

Training room zero-two-four wasn’t the largest training room in Starkiller Base, not by a long shot, but it was still impressive. Troopers were scattered around, some in clumps, some utilizing the bleacher seating curved up like a stadium around the sparring arena. Most of the training centers had battle simulations and holo projectors, but this one was meant for hand-to-hand combat orientation only.

Hux himself didn’t know a lot about hand-to-hand. He knew his way around a blaster, had participated in simulated tests, and could defend himself in a pinch, but he preferred to stay far away from actual warfare of any kind. He was a mastermind. Masterminds carried weapons, but let the soldiers in the trenches do all the dirty work. 

His blaster was currently on his person, hooked onto his belt like it always was. He briefly wondered if he would have to use it. He trusted the captain to rein herself in, but Ren was volatile and dangerous. The Supreme Leader wouldn’t be happy if they beat each other to the point of being unfit for work. He knew Phasma had a raid to conduct in two days. He wasn’t sure of Ren’s schedule (he wasn’t sure of Ren’s _anything_ , to be completely honest), but he figured Sith Lord Boot Camp would be hard to complete without arms.

(He’d heard reports of Captain Phasma ripping both of a rebel soldier’s arms off in the heat of battle. Troopers gossipped, and that particular story seemed too fabricated to be true, but something about it, and something about the captain, made him believe it. Not that he would ever tell anyone that.)

He still remembered the first day he had met the future captain, on what was day one of the Starkiller project, nearly four years ago. She had been a sergeant back then, wearing a white pauldron over her white trooper armor, dirty and battered from a day out in the field. She had exactly two inches of height on him, a fact that working with her had never allowed him to forget.

She had reported to him for the first time that day, and he had asked her to remove her helmet in a way that wasn’t an order, but was meant to be attended to as such. The first thought he’d had after seeing her face was that the First Order had, somehow, found the tallest, blondest, angriest woman in the galaxy and offered her a job.

After years of working together, with an added dash of what he hoped to be mutual respect, that would still sum up his feelings towards her.

All of the murmuring hushed as Phasma entered the arena. The troopers that were sitting sat up straighter, the troopers that were standing stood at attention. Hux stopped pacing.

It was rare to see the captain without her signature silver armor. She was imposing and strong, and she kept her light hair (almost as short as Hux’s, but not quite) slicked back out of her eyes. Those eyes were the most intimidating thing about Phasma by far; her muscles were scary, her height was scary, but her piercing laser-blue eyes were almost unfairly terrifying. 

She would be just as effective leading her troops without her rank-signifying armor and helmet. They would still stay in line and do their job. That was talent, _that_ was leadership.

And she had thought that he was questioning her methods? Phasma was the only person on Starkiller Base, besides the Supreme Leader, that Hux wasn’t constantly questioning. He second-guessed _himself_ more than he second-guessed the captain. Again, he’d never tell her that. His job was to keep morale up, not reveal weakness to his officers.

In the arena, she was standing, calm as a spring day (not that Hux had a lot of recent experience with spring days), methodically rolling her shoulders back and stretching out her arms. She rotated her neck and three cracks echoed through the near-silent room.

Things like this were normal around the base. In an atmosphere like Starkiller’s, people were going to get angry, and those angry people were going to want to get even. Duels and sparring and one-on-one combat were parts of daily life, overseen by an officer or anyone with higher rank, watched by whoever was bored enough to be interested. Nothing that ever warranted Hux’s attendance. 

Not this time. It seemed like half the base had shown up for this fight (that was unrealistic; one eighth of the base couldn't have even fit in the training room), but Hux figured that was to be expected. He had shown up himself, after all. 

(First dinner in the trooper mess hall and now this. Either the quality of life on Starkiller had started to decline, or he was becoming more lax. Both thoughts were abhorrent.)

If the room was quiet before, it was nothing compared to the bone-chilling silence that swept through the assembled stormtroopers as the farthest set of doors slid open, admitting Kylo Ren into the arena. Like Phasma, he was wearing all black training gear, but he was wearing a sleeveless shirt, while her sleeves were long and hooked around her thumbs. Phasma’s shoulder was prominently emblazoned with the First Order insignia. 

At some point between the mess hall and the arena, Ren had pulled back his hair into a knot on the back of his head. Pieces fell out and around his face, rendering the whole thing useless and, in Hux’s professional opinion, ridiculous. 

Phasma and Ren nodded to each other, and another piece of hair dislodged and brushed down over his forehead. Phasma rolled her shoulders again and Ren swung his arm behind his back, just like she’d done a few minutes prior.

Without any further discussion, they began circling each other.

Hux moved closer to the edge of the arena, almost without meaning to. He _did_ find fighting fascinating, especially hand-to-hand, most likely because of his lack of proficiency in that particular subject. Even being on the sidelines was exhilarating. He started scraping his nails across his palms as Phasma lunged forward first, swinging at Ren, who sidestepped and ducked to avoid her fist. 

They collided for what felt like only a second, a flurry of jabs and punches and exhaled breath before they broke apart again. Phasma shook out her right hand in an almost imperceptible movement, but Hux didn’t see any signs of injury on either of them. 

Ren threw a punch and Phasma blocked it, and they did that for a while, exchanging blows and taking hits, testing each other. Hux paced through the assembled troopers until he was at the other side of the arena.

They stepped apart almost in agreement, Phasma swinging both arms behind her, and Ren turning in a lazy circle, stretching one arm over his head and pulling on it with the other. 

“Finished yet, Captain?” he taunted, breaking the almost reverent silence covering the training room. 

In response Phasma shifted her weight and kicked out, grazing his chest as he stumbled back in surprise. He recovered quickly, ducking, spinning, and lunging forward with a hit of his own, clipping her shoulder and wheeling her around.

The fight intensified into something like a dance, the _1, 2, strike_ method taking on a life of its own; she stepped, he stepped, one of them swung at the other. Sometimes hitting (Phasma’s calf colliding solidly with the side of Ren’s chest), sometimes missing (Ren’s fist coming so close to the bridge of Phasma’s nose that Hux actually took a physical step back). 

Minutes passed and the two of them showed no signs of slowing down. From where he was standing it didn’t even look like they were sweating, and, somehow, Ren’s hair was still tied back. Phasma dealt an uppercut that glanced the side of Ren’s jaw and he spat out a curse and a substantial amount of blood. 

That wasn’t the first blood the arena floor had seen that day; Phasma’s nose was dripping and there was a cut just above his left eyebrow. 

Phasma swung.

“Done yet?” Hux heard her grunt. 

“I could do this forever.”

“You might have to.”

Ren punched and she grabbed his fist, forcing his arm down. Her back muscles twisted and strained under her thin shirt, and she bared her teeth in the first sign of effort the entire fight. Ren tore his hand away and renewed his attack, pulling her close and kneeing her right in the ribs. 

The captain went down, only for a heartbeat, but her knees still touched the floor and Hux heard more than one trooper inhale sharply. Not for the first time, Hux wondered if this fight was a good idea. There would be a loser either way, and he didn’t know which would be worse, seeing weakness from their captain or from the distant, and thusly terrifying and useful, Kylo Ren.

Ren didn’t seem so distant from where Hux was standing. He was intense and present, eyes on fire as he twisted wildly, parrying Phasma’s blows and dealing his own. Their fighting styles varied; hers was deeply rooted in First Order training, drenched in power, if a bit methodical, while his was erratic and filled with emotion. Hux could tell whenever he thought he had the upper ground, could tell whenever he was hurt or worried or a blow had landed. No wonder he wore the mask. 

He was curious, out of the assembled troopers, as to who had never seen Ren’s face before the fight. Snoke’s apprentice was fanatical about the mask, hardly ever taking it off, at least when Hux was around. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ren slept in the thing.

He had become a part of Starkiller Base a year after Phasma, when the Supreme Leader decided to make the weapon his top priority. Which also meant hologram conferences at very inconvenient times in Hux’s schedule, upping the intake of new trooper trainees, which stressed out the newly promoted Captain, and relocating his other weapon to the base.

_“I’ve met him before. Kylo Ren,” the captain said, handing Hux her datapad, open to the file all of the commanding officers on Starkiller had received that morning. Hux flipped through the file, mind elsewhere. Specifically on the fact that, while entering, Phasma had stepped on his foot. Uniform shoes were not meant to stand up to trooper armor._

_“Kylo… Ren…” Hux swiped at the datapad again before handing it back to Phasma with a slight, if unprofessional, shrug. “He’s the Supreme Leader’s apprentice. He won’t be under our feet at all.”_

_“Twenty-two,” Phasma read, and Hux wondered if she’d heard him at all. His left foot throbbed. “Force sensitive. What does this mean for the base?”_

_“It means nothing,” Hux replied with conviction, taking the pad away from Phasma. “It means that he trains with Snoke, answers to Snoke, and doesn’t bother us. End of discussion.”_

Hux had met the captain a few hours later to welcome their new addition in leadership to Starkiller Base. If he had known back then that the black-garbed, mask-wearing, few-inches-taller-than-him Kylo Ren would be menacing the base, trashing equipment, and causing general havoc for the next three years, maybe he’d have resigned.

Resignation thoughts or not, he, the captain, and the Force-wielding Ren were stuck together. Apart from the occasional hologram conference with the Supreme Leader, the three of them managed the base on their own. Thanks to the combined efforts of Phasma and himself, the plan was on track, the troopers were being trained, and the weapon was being built. Thanks to the efforts of Ren, most of the console rooms on Level 43D needed reconstructed. 

Phasma made a noise, a clash between a growl and a grunt, that brought Hux back to the training room floor. 

The fight, of course, still raged, quick, brutal, and furious. If Hux once thought that Ren had the upper hand, the odds had made a definitive shift back in favor of the captain as her foot made thudding contact with his chest, throwing him back against the wall. He hit with a dull thump, but turned his fall into a somersault and was back on his feet in an instant. 

Hux didn't miss the swift grit of teeth and the pained look that accompanied it, and there was no doubt that anyone else missed it, either. Phasma’s emotions were concealed, hidden as effectively as if she were wearing her helmet. 

Her forehead shone, beads of moisture dripping down her nose.

_Finally,_ Hux thought. 

Ren’s hair fell loose, whipping into his face as he ducked another one of Phasma’s hits.

_Finally,_ Hux thought again.

They were getting more and more out of control as the minutes dragged on; even Phasma, with her Order-developed restraint, was throwing and blocking punches haphazardly. She must have hit the same place over Ren’s eye again, because the cut was now more like a gash, soaking the pieces of hair around his face in bright red blood.

Her nose wasn’t faring any better; there was a spot on her black shirt stained darker, somehow, with her own blood. A bruise was already forming on her chin, and she stood in a stance that clearly favored her right leg. 

Even from where he was standing, Hux could tell that Ren’s left hand was swollen and, as he turned, the general caught a glimpse of four vivid red streaks cutting their way down his bicep. Nail marks. That was dirty fighting, and Phasma wasn’t one to resort to that.

Hux crossed his arms and frowned.

He didn’t know what he was hoping. Maybe that the two grappling in the arena would come to their senses, call it a draw, and leave the training room without killing each other. He still had training schedules to go over with the captain, and he couldn’t do that if she died of exhaustion fighting Kylo Ren. 

They would never call it a draw. There had to be a winner and there had to be a loser.

Who had sanctioned this? Why hadn’t he tried to put a stop to it before it got out of hand?

Phasma’s fist made solid contact with Ren’s jaw and he stumbled, spitting blood, and Hux actually had to suppress a smile.

_Oh, that’s right._ He wanted to see his most capable officer soundly beat the shit out of Kylo Ren, and he just hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences of it.

Or what would happen if Snoke’s untrained and highly volatile apprentice snapped.

That’s when Ren yelled, the loudest, most guttural noise that Hux had ever heard come from him, charged at Phasma, and slammed into her. They both sprawled to the ground, sliding in the scattered pools of blood (who’s it was, Hux couldn’t tell), and were both on their feet again in a heartbeat, swinging at each other with renewed (if erratic) vigor.

Phasma threw three punches in a row _\--head, body, head--_ all the while gritting her teeth and _snarling_. Ren’s face was the same, a twisted cacophony of blood and freckles and anger. 

Hux took his gloves from the pocket of his greatcoat and put them on, making sure each finger was secure before moving on to the next one. This was ridiculous, it was setting a bad example, and it was time to put an end to it. 

He entered the arena, aware that he was the center of attention (barring, of course, the two individuals currently locked in the throes of a stalemate death battle). Hux cleared his throat.

“Captain.”

No response, unless attempting to headbutt Ren in the nose counted as a response. 

“Captain Phasma.”

Hux could feel himself turning a furious shade of red underneath the bright arena lights. He took another step towards the grappling pair, and another, and another, until he was almost running towards them.

“Captain, I _order_ you to--”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because Kylo Ren spun around and punched him right in the face. 

The last thing he remembered before blacking out was noticing a fissure in one of the far-away ceiling lights. A hairline crack, something he never would have noticed unless he was, for some reason, sprawled on his back in the middle of training room zero-two-four.

_That needs to be fixed._

And then the light, along with everything else, switched off.


	3. Ren

“I can’t believe you hit him.”

Kylo actually rolled his eyes at that, because they were alone. The unconscious Hux, flat on his back in the med bay, didn't count. 

“I didn't _hit him_.”

He heard Phasma’s scoffing noise and glanced over right as she made a damning gesture at Hux’s left eye. It was already starting to swell. 

“So what do you call that? Foreplay?”

Kylo liked to think that he was a master of the dirty glare, perfected in the hours he spent with his face and emotions hidden behind a piece of metal, but it didn’t phase Phasma in the least. She winked. 

He rolled his eyes again. Twice in a row, which would have been some sort of record, except for the fact that he spent most of his time behind the mask either eye-rolling or glaring. “That’s disrespectful.”

“And knocking out our most esteemed general wasn’t?”

“He was in my blind spot.”

“So that’s what you’re going with.”

“We were _fighting_. He ran at me. I was defending myself.”

Phasma made a big show of looking pointedly down at the comatose Hux, both of her eyebrows raised. “Defending yourself against what? I could deadlift two of him, Ren. Three, on a good day. You’re a _sith lord_.”

He glared again. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever stopped glaring in the first place.

She waved a hand. “ _In training._ Whatever. Point is--”

“You’re talkative,” he grumbled, interrupting her. She blew out the rest of the breath she was holding in her lungs and leaned back against the wall of the med bay, legs splayed in front of her. They were sitting on the same bench, but it was long enough that they didn’t have to be close.

“Adrenaline.” She blew a piece of short hair off of her forehead. “My heart’s still going like a TIE-fighter engine.”

Kylo knew what she was talking about. He still felt coiled and tight, and the pain from his various injuries still hadn’t registered. The slight pulse coming from just above his left eyebrow, however, suggested that pain was on its way. The after-fight high didn’t last forever. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, noting the way the muscles on his side complained at the movement. 

“Next time, you’re not allowed to wear those fucking boots,” he griped. “How many times did you kick me?”

“Not my fault you kept leaving your flank open.” Phasma sat up again, only to lean over her knees in her own stretch. She let out a long moan. “What did you do to me?”

Kylo actually laughed at that, a low chuckle that surprised even him. Phasma started rubbing the back of her own neck like he’d done to his a few moments prior. 

The pain had slowly started creeping in, like it had noticed that he was sitting and taking steady breaths for the first time since the fight. It started with the wound above his eye, moved down to his jaw, his side, his bicep, where Phasma had--

“You _scratched_ me.”

“You broke my damn nose.”

“It’s not broken. I didn’t even punch you that hard.”

“Your fists are huge. You hit my _face_ with your gigantic Wookiee fists.”

Kylo smothered another laugh, biting the inside of his cheek. That was something Ben would have found funny, and every once in a while it was difficult to tell what was Kylo and what was the former Ben Organa-Solo.

He insisted to Snoke that Ben was gone, but he knew that the Supreme Leader knew that he was lying. Not for lack of effort, though. The mask, the training, the saber, the pain. The burnt shell of his grandfather’s helmet, kept secure in his quarters. It was working. He still could sense Ben, but Ben Organa-Solo was a child, and Ben Organa-Solo was no match for Kylo Ren.

He glanced over at Phasma, who was grimacing as she poked her nose. 

She didn’t know where he came from, what he had done, who his parents were. She had never known Ben. Her first impression and all impressions after that were of Kylo alone, and that was invaluable. 

“So. How was the fight?” he asked without looking over again. “I mean, for you.”

“Aside from my nose?” 

Kylo sighed. Apparently adrenaline made her talkative _and_ snarky. “Yes, captain. Aside from your nose.”

“It was good.” She paused. “It was _good_. I haven’t been challenged like that in ages. Why was that the first time we tried punching each other?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but she beat him to it.

“Oh. Right. Because we’re professionals. Until you started talking about me behind my back.” 

He looked over at that, she was glaring, and he couldn’t tell if it was in seriousness or not. He could have just read her mind and found out, but he liked to give his fellow commanding officers the privacy of their own heads. Knowing the thoughts of others got complicated very quickly; it was a good trick to have in a pinch, it made interrogation easy, but it got messy once it involved people he had to spend actual time around. Not worth the trouble.

“I never said any of that stuff to Snoke.”

“ _Snoke_. Who’s being disrespectful now?”

“ _Supreme Leader_. Whatever.” Kylo rolled his eyes again, and he caught a quick flash of her teeth before the glare slid back over her features like a mask. 

“How old are you again?”

“Thirteen.”

“That’s what I thought. Now get me some water.” She pointed a finger across the room to a glass pitcher, past where Hux was still lying on the med bay table. Kylo realized that this had been the most time he’d spent around Hux without wanting to see how the general’s shoulder pads held up against his lightsaber, and Hux was unconscious. Oh, well. Small victories.

“I’m not getting up.”

“You broke my nose, it’s the least you can do.”

“My arm is in _tatters_ \--”

“My nails aren’t even that long!”

“Hold on. Watch this.” Kylo scooted the tiniest bit closer to Phasma, if only to get a better angle on the water jug, and held out his hand. The water sloshed as he used the Force to lift the container, making it hover and rotate on the spot. Phasma snorted.

“Are you showing off?”

“Yes.”

It didn’t take concentration to lift the jug, but it took concentration to make what he was going to do look like an accident. He moved it right over Hux, still out cold, and let it fall a few inches before catching it again. A few drops of water spilled over the edge and landed, one on his forehead, one on the bridge of his nose, and one right on his swollen, black and blue eyelid. 

“ _Ren_ ,” Phasma snarled.

“What?” He waved his hand a little and the jug tipped, pouring more water onto Hux. “I'm not doing anything.”

Another few drops fell and Hux jolted upward without any warning, arms flailing, the movement quick enough to actually shock Kylo into dropping the water container for real. Phasma dove and snatched the glass jug before it could smash on the floor, and the rest of the water found a new home, drenching Hux’s hair, his face, and his shoulders. 

“What the hell!” Hux sputtered, wiping his usually perfect ginger hair out of his face. He must have brushed his swollen eye, because the next noise out of his mouth was a loud cross between a shriek and a groan, and Kylo was pretty sure he heard the tail end of an expletive a lot worse than _hell_ thrown in for good measure. 

Hux cradled the side of his face, glaring at them through his gloved fingers. 

“Well?”

“General, I--”

“No, captain, I want to hear it from _him_.”

Kylo looked over at Hux, his movements slow and exaggerated. “Yes, General?”

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

He took in Hux’s entirety for a second, the soaking wet hair, the drenched coat, the huge, dark blotch over his eye shaped suspiciously like his own fist. Damn, it was a big bruise. Were his fists really that big? He fought the urge to look down at his hands, only because Hux was still staring at him with barely-concealed rage. Was it worth it to prod him closer to the edge? 

Kylo was positive that Phasma was sending him a strong _apologize and do not make this worse_ signal, but since when had that ever worked?

He raised an eyebrow at Hux, who was either shivering or physically vibrating with fury. “Do you want a blanket or something? It’s pretty chilly in here. Wouldn’t want you catching a cold.”

“Oh, for the love of fuck.” Phasma stood up and immediately exited. She stepped on Kylo’s foot on the way out, which he would have put down as an accident, except for the fact she took a much smaller step after that in order to step on his other foot as well. The door slammed after her, leaving Kylo by himself with a very angry Hux.

_I bet he weighs about as much as a wet cat_ , Kylo thought, still looking at the door Phasma had left through. _Which, I mean, that’s basically what he is-- Shit!_

He spun around and threw his hands up just in time to catch the glass pitcher that Hux had flung at him. Well, he didn't really _catch_ it, he suspended it in midair with the Force, watching it hover inches away from his nose. 

Twisting his hand, he flicked it towards the far wall of the med bay, where it almost seemed to pause for a heartbeat before imploding. Shards of glass sprayed in every direction, and Hux had to lift up both arms to protect his face. None of the sharp pieces hit Kylo, he made sure of that, and none of them hit Hux, either, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“Can’t you go ten minutes without _BREAKING SOMETHING_?” Hux’s voice rode a steady crescendo until he was on his feet and screaming, face almost as vibrant and red as his still sopping wet hair. “The glass, those control panels last week, my _FACE_? I cannot believe I have to work like this, with you--”

The general took a deep breath and composed himself. Kylo wasn’t sure how to respond. He was torn between also yelling and laughing, and he was pretty sure that either of those options would send Hux even further over the edge.

He could also apologize, seeing as how he _had_ given Hux a black eye, a thorough dousing on the coldest planet imaginable, and ruined those control panels last week, but apologizing was for Ben and people like him. 

“Is there any way we can work together in harmony?” Hux was asking, arms crossed underneath his coat, which he had arranged once more over his shoulders. “Without you acting like an insolent child?”

Kylo raised an eyebrow at that, and, without much debate over what was the most insolent, childish thing to do in that instance, stuck out his tongue at Hux. The general looked at him, blinked slowly, and promptly left the med bay, using the same exit Phasma had. The door slid shut and he was alone, only him and the soft, muted presence of Ben and the stronger, prickly and grating and powerful presence of Snoke in his mind.

_I have told you, time and again._

Kylo flinched, not expecting the deep, bass voice of the Supreme Leader undercutting his thoughts. It had been months since he’d infiltrated Kylo’s mind, only communicating with him the same way he did with the others, the sometimes weekly meetings in the darkened conference room.

_General Hux is vital to our mission. Both he and the captain will bring about the end of the Republic. You know this. I have told you this._

Kylo sat still as Snoke flicked through his thoughts, all of the memories from the past few weeks. It didn’t hurt, this part at least. It felt like strings being tugged. The lack of control was uncomfortable, but familiar. 

And then the lie. The fight with Phasma. Hux. The smashing glass. When the glass smashed it felt like it was tearing through Kylo’s skin, shards of glass ripping up his insides. He didn’t cry out.

_Your insubordination will not be tolerated. You will be punished._

The light in the med bay switched off because he had been still for so long. The darkness felt like a welcome blanket, a shield, even though he knew Snoke could still see his every movement, every breath, every whisper of a thought.

Cold fingers carded through his brain, sometimes grabbing hold of something and squeezing until he had to bite his tongue bloody to keep from screaming. His hands made claws over his knees, digging into the skin to try and draw his attention away from Snoke’s hold over his mind.

Self-inflicted pain sometimes worked. Not always, but he always tried.

_You will report to me. And you will bring both the general and the captain._

Kylo fell to his knees and knelt there, head throbbing, mouth full of blood. He would agree to that, agree to anything, if it would get Snoke out of his head.

_I will not have this insurrection among my officers. You will yield to my will._

And it was over. Kylo had forgotten what it was like to have his mind all to himself, he always forgot. Snoke’s presence was unavoidable but when it wasn’t there it felt like a spacious room, an open field, a starry sky passing by at lightspeed. The only thing ruining it was Ben, but he was small and curled up, frightened into submission by the Supreme Leader’s appearance.

Kylo stood, ignited his lightsaber, and made a swift, downward cut onto the med cot Hux had been placed on. The muscles in his back complained, as did the part of his side where Phasma had repeatedly kicked, but he kept swinging. 

He kept swinging until his vision was red, he kept swinging until he couldn’t lift the saber.

He kept swinging until he was, for the second time that day, kneeling on the floor, forehead pressed to the ground, tears stinging his eyes like poison.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading, any and all comments are appreciated! The next chapter should be posted soon.
> 
> (Find me at fihli.tumblr.com!)
> 
> -Gab


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